Chapter 9 - The hospital had been abandoned for nearly a year.David parked behind the loading dock.
Rain hammered the windshield.
Sarah held Leo close.
Tank lay wrapped in a blanket in the back seat.
The detective sat beside him.
David looked at the building.
“This is where Leo was born?”
Sarah nodded.
“I think so.”
“You said the hospital was destroyed.”
“I was told it was.”
The detective spoke quietly.
“That was a lie.”
They entered through a side door.
The corridors smelled of dust and bleach.
Old patient rooms lined the hallway.
David found a directory.
Maternity.
Floor four.
They climbed the stairs.
Room 417.
Locked.
David kicked it open.
Inside was nothing.
A bed.
An empty cabinet.
A broken monitor.
Sarah stepped toward the window.
“This is where I woke up.”
David frowned.
“You were here.”
“I remember being pregnant.”
She touched her stomach.
“I remember the pain.”
Then she looked confused.
“I remember screaming.”
“But?”
“I don't remember Leo being born.”
David stared.
The detective checked the wall.
“There's something here.”
A hidden safe.
He pulled it open.
Inside were medical records.
Birth certificates.
Photographs.
A single cassette.
David picked it up.
The label said:
A-16 / A-17 / A-18.
He found an old player.
Pressed play.
Static.
Then a man's voice.
“Subject A-16 refuses to cooperate.”
A woman's voice:
“She keeps asking for the babies.”
Another voice:
“Then remove her memories.”
Sarah grabbed David's arm.
“Stop.”
He didn't.
The recording continued.
“We cannot remove everything.”
“Why?”
“She has a bond with A-18.”
David looked at Leo.
The tape clicked.
Then came a scream.
Sarah's scream.
David turned it off.
“No.”
Sarah stared into the darkness.
“I remember.”
“What?”
“The baby.”
“Leo?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Emma.”
Sarah's eyes filled with tears.
“Emma was the baby.”
David couldn't speak.
Sarah continued.
“She was born first.”
“What happened?”
“They told me she died.”
The detective looked at the files.
“She didn't.”
David found another document.
A transfer order.
Subject A-16.
Destination: Lantern Facility.
Status: Active.
Date: tomorrow.
David's hand went cold.
“Tomorrow.”
The detective frowned.
“What?”
“She hasn't been transferred yet.”
He looked at the timestamp.
Tomorrow's date.
But today was today.
Impossible.
Then the lights flickered.
A hospital speaker turned on.
A woman's voice filled the corridor.
“Sarah?”
Sarah froze.
“Mom?”
The voice continued.
“Come upstairs.”
David looked at the elevator.
The doors opened by themselves.
Inside, someone had scratched a message into the metal.
YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES.
The detective raised his weapon.
“We shouldn't go.”
David looked at Leo.
Then at Sarah.
They stepped into the elevator.
Floor five.
The doors closed.
The elevator started rising.
Then stopped.
A full minute passed.
No movement.
Then the doors opened.
Not on a hospital floor.
On a bedroom.
A beautiful bedroom.
David stared.
It was their bedroom.
The exact room from their house.
Same furniture.
Same photographs.
Same curtains.
Except everything was reversed.
And in the center of the bed sat a woman.
Sarah's mother.
She was holding a baby.
She looked at David.
“Welcome home.”
Sarah whispered:
“Mom.”
The woman smiled.
“You finally remembered.”
David raised his weapon.
“Put the baby down.”
She laughed.
“You still think Leo is the prize.”
David frowned.
“What is he?”
The woman looked at the baby in her arms.
Then at Sarah.
“He is the key.”
“To what?”
She answered:
“To everything you forgot.”
Suddenly the doors behind David slammed shut.
The room went dark.
A baby's cry echoed.
Then another.
Then another.
David realized something.
There wasn't one baby.
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There were many.
And all of them were crying beneath the floor.
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